


Maybe I Just Wanna Be Yours

by misato



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: First Crush, Growing Up, M/M, Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 02:54:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9363269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misato/pseuds/misato
Summary: When Yuuri sees Viktor for the first time, it’s like a flower blossoming in his chest; so big and bright and beautiful that it threatens to break his body open.





	

Yuuri Katsuki presses two sticky hands to the television set, watching a figure skater glide and twirl on the screen before him.

“Look, Yuko,” he murmurs, and she claps her own hands together in delight.

He can’t read the name of the American skater that’s currently on the ice, but the way he moves draws Yuuri in like a moth to a light. He twirls on the carpet in an imitation of the man until he tumbles to the floor, but the music keeps playing on the television; upbeat and beautiful.

They spend the afternoon watching the skaters perform until night threatens to fall.

But even after Yuko leaves to go home, Yuuri stays glued to the TV for hours, begging his mother to replay and replay different programs, unable to pull his eyes away from the skaters; their delicate movements, their agility, their stamina. He recognizes all these things, and he doesn’t even know the words for them yet.

Yuuri’s only five years old.

But he knows what he loves.

-

When Yuuri sees Viktor for the first time, it’s like a flower blossoming in his chest; so big and bright and beautiful that it threatens to break his body open.

He has long, silky hair, like a girl, and a slender body, like a girl, and a pretty face, like a girl, and so it’s not weird that he thinks about kissing him.

Right?

He still doesn’t tell Yuko about it, though, and he definitely won’t tell Takeshi, who teases him about almost _everything_. From his haircut to his voice to his blush to the way his hips sway when he moves on the ice, anything’s fair game.

“I have a crush on Akane-chan,” Takeshi declares proudly to him one day, as if falling in love with a girl is a serious accomplishment. “What about you?”

“W-what do you mean?”

“Who do you have a crush on?”

Yuuri doesn’t know. He guesses he must like Yuko, because she’s nice to him and she has a cute smile. But it doesn’t feel intense, not the way he’s heard boys at school describe it. It feels ordinary, like the love he feels for his older sister, or his other friends. She’s a safe answer, but not a true one.

Because when he thinks about love, he thinks of flowing silver hair and perfect skates gliding across ice.

Yuuri adjusts his glasses; they’re slipping down his nose.

“U-um,” he says. “I don’t really like any girls.”

Takeshi groans and rolls his eyes and punches Yuuri in the shoulder.

“Yeah, how could you focus on any girl when you’re practically in love with Viktor Nikiforov?”

Yuuri fights back his blush.

Everyone knows that he spends hours looking over Viktor’s routines.

Everyone knows that he has a dog named after Viktor.

Everyone knows that he keeps about eighteen posters of Viktor hung up around his room.

But what they don’t know is that his favorite poster lies underneath his pillow, folded carefully.

What they don’t know is that he looks at it every night before he falls asleep.

What they don’t know is that he told the truth.

He doesn’t like any girls.

He likes a boy.

-

“Hey, Yuuri,” Phichit says, shoving popcorn into his mouth.

They’re watching a movie in Phichit’s apartment; they did rock paper scissors to see what language they’d put the subtitles in. Yuuri had won with scissors, and so Japanese characters scroll across the bottom of the screen as the pretty blonde actress laments about something or other. They both speak English pretty well, but it’s a fun game to play when they’re bored.

“Yuuri,” Phichit says again, a little more insistent, and Yuuri turns from the film to face his friend. “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah, sure,” Yuuri says, pausing the movie and nodding; it’s probably a stupid joke or a new idea for a skating program.

“I…” Phichit trails off, nervous. “I’m gay.”

He spits out the last word like it’s hard to say; a heavy weight on his tongue.

“Oh,” Yuuri says, and he doesn’t know what else to say, except- “Me too.”

“Really?” Phichit says, and it’s like the tension was never there in the first place. “Oh, thank God. I mean, I kind of guessed, but-”

“Oh, shit,” Yuuri groans. “Is it obvious?”

“I mean…” Phichit looks like he’s going to choke from holding back laughter. “Yuuri, the way you talk about Viktor Nikiforov...you might as well be walking around in a glittery rainbow leotard.”

“Oh, no,” Yuuri says, trying to cover his blush with his hands.

“It’s fine,” Phichit giggles. “No one even gives a shit.”

And he’s probably right.

Phichit unpauses the movie.

When the credits roll, Yuuri turns to him.

“Have you ever...y’know?”

“Have I ever what?” Phichit asks, his eyes dancing with laughter.

“Done anything. With a guy.”

“Oh,” Phichit laughs. “Yeah, a couple times. Why?”

“I feel like such a virgin,” Yuuri moans, flushing pink again. “I’ve never even kissed anyone.”

“Do you want me to set you up with someone?”

He’s serious. Yuuri knows it.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I know a couple guys who think you’re cute. Any preference?”

“Not really,” Yuuri says, although he can think of a few.

Tall, silver hair, blue eyes, a dazzling smile.

But Phichit nods knowingly.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

-

A week later, he gets a text from a guy named Andrew; he’s skinny and has blonde hair, but he’s a top. He says he’s clean, but he’s planning on using protection.

He gives Yuuri an address.

Yuuri doesn’t know what to do; he never really planned on actually hooking up with someone, but here he is, on his way to some guy’s apartment.

It’s a nice apartment.

Yuuri knocks on the door and Andrew opens it, a grin on his face.

He’s cute, but he’s nothing like Viktor. Maybe that’s a good thing.

The guy offers him a drink and he takes it, knocking back the bottle of whatever-it-is as if it’ll give him the courage to do whatever they’re about to do.

Surprisingly, it does.

He finds himself wearing less clothes than he ever expected to, and the way Andrew looks at him makes him feel wanted, for once in his life.

Maybe that’s why Yuuri lets himself fall to his knees, lets the other man thrust gently into his mouth.

Maybe that’s why Yuuri lets him mark his neck up with countless bruises.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t think about Viktor’s face when he enters him, fucking hot and hard into his ass.

(He’s lying. He does. He imagines soft kisses and blue eyes and silvery locks falling sweaty and beautiful across Viktor’s forehead as he thrusts harder, harder, harder.)

“Harder,” Yuuri moans, out loud, but he’s somewhere else.

He’s with Viktor.

It takes everything he has to not moan out Viktor’s name when he comes all over the sheets.

He doesn’t spend the night.

He couldn’t possibly.

Andrew was nice. But he’s not what Yuuri wants.

Yuuri will never get what he wants.

Or so he thinks.

-

“Damn, Yuuri Katsuki,” Phichit says, whistling. “He really marked you up good, huh?”

“What?” Yuuri says absentmindedly, before he remembers the hickeys that scatter over his neck. “Oh. Oh, yeah.”

He tugs at his turtleneck, pulling up the collar half-heartedly.

“What, wasn’t he good?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says, unfocused. “Yeah, sure.”

“Are you okay?” Phichit says lowly, after practice.

“Kinda hungover, pretty sore, very tired,” Yuuri says, his voice clipped. “But I’m fine.”

It’s a lie.

Yuuri Katsuki’s an expert at lying.

“Shut up,” Phichit says, and then he drags him to dinner.

“Tell me everything,” he says, after the server takes their orders, and Yuuri does, leaving out the extra-explicit details, though he’s sure Phichit wants them.

When he gets to the part about Viktor, he trails off, not sure if he should mention the teeny-tiny fact that he’s literally crushing on the world-famous Russian heartthrob figure skater.

But Phichit presses him until he spills the truth.

“Wow,” Phichit says. “You’ve liked him since you were a kid, huh? And you’ve never even met the guy.”

“It’s horrible,” Yuuri says.

“Not horrible. Out of the ordinary, maybe.”

“It’s gonna screw up my sex life forever. How am I supposed to fuck a guy when I’m in danger of moaning Viktor’s name at any moment?”

Phichit snorts.

“It’s not like teenage girls here in America aren’t currently obsessed with every boy celebrity they can get their hands on.”

“I’m not a teenage girl. And he’s not a boy celebrity, he’s…” Yuuri searches for the right words. “Viktor Nikiforov.”

He says it almost reverently, and it sends Phichit into a fit of giggles.

“You’re adorable, Yuuri,” he says, sipping his drink. “You really are.”

-

Yuuri doesn’t attempt any other sexual escapades; he focuses on skating, until he fails miserably.

“What the hell was that?” a reporter asks him before the banquet, not even on the air, and Yuuri feels so terrible about it that he drinks himself into a stupor.

He doesn’t remember any of it, but a lot of it shows up in dreams.

They’re nice dreams.

 _Really_ nice dreams.

He recalls the blur of bright lights, the feeling of sweat and slick bodies against his skin, the breathlessness that rushed through him. He remembers Viktor Nikiforov. Vaguely.

That part must be fantasy, because there’s no way Viktor could ever look at him like that.

But he remembers those blue eyes, staring fondly at him.

And he wakes up with damp boxers and rumpled sheets.

-

Yuuri comes home and wants to fall asleep.

He’s so tired of everything.

He’s tired of being made fun of for his weight and his failure and his pathetic life. He feels like an absolute loser, like he’s a clumsy little kid getting bullied again, with chubby cheeks and too much enthusiasm. Only he’s lost the enthusiasm.

But he goes to the skating rink, because he’s anxious as hell and needs to blow off some steam.

He skates Viktor’s routine for Yuko.

It wasn’t ever supposed to mean anything. He just needed to relieve some stress. It was just a stupid project that he worked on for no reason.

But now it’s on YouTube.

It’s uploaded for the whole world to see, for the whole world to mock.

Including Viktor.

Yuuri closes his eyes and drifts off.

-

Before Yuuri knows what’s happening, Viktor is living with him.

Coaching him day and night.

Teaching him exercises and techniques and jumps and _Eros_.

He doesn’t know if he can survive it.

Yuuri still thinks about him constantly, only now, he’s there in the flesh, with his pretty platinum hair and his sultry smirk and his _hands_. Those hands are all over him, all the time, stretching Yuuri’s leg into a split, ruffling his hair, pulling him close to take a selfie.

He can’t even count the times he’s had to excuse himself to the bathroom for a quick, dirty orgasm.

He wonders if Viktor knows.

“He can’t know,” Yuuri says out loud to his empty room.

He’s just taken a shower, and his hair is dripping in thin rivulets onto the carpeted floor. He collapses onto the bed, his towel falling from his waist. His cock is half-hard against his stomach.

Yuuri jacks off lazily, wondering how Viktor would do it.

He would go slow, teasing Yuuri as he did so, maybe using his mouth _and_ his hands.

He imagines the heat, the slickness, the sensation.

He comes jerkily, his release spilling over his thick thighs.

“He can’t know,” Yuuri says again.

But maybe he does.

-

He hates it when Viktor asks him about sex. As if it’s a joke. As if Yuuri’s innocent.

They’re in a hotel room at about ten o’clock at night, laying in their separate beds, when Viktor opens his stupid mouth.

“Truth or dare, Yuuri?”

Even stupider, Yuuri decides to play along.

“Truth,” Yuuri says, because it’s safe, because actions are scarier than words.

“Are you really a virgin?”

Yuuri swallows.

“No.”

“Okay,” Viktor says, trying to hide the surprise in his voice, but it shows.

“Truth or dare, Viktor?”

“Truth.”

Yuuri doesn’t know what to ask. He has a world of possibilities at his fingertips, and yet the thing that comes out of his mouth is-

“Have you ever been in love?”

Viktor smiles up at the ceiling.

“Yes,” he says quietly.

“With who?” Yuuri says, and he doesn’t want to know the answer.

“You only get one question, Yuuri,” Viktor says. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Yuuri says, because he’s feeling reckless, and Viktor rolls over on the bed to face him from the opposite side of the room.

“I dare you to sleep in my bed tonight. It’s cold.”

“O-okay,” Yuuri says, because that’s not what he was expecting; usually the dares he’s received are either disgusting or stupid, but this, this is nerve wracking.

He slips out from beneath the covers of his own bed and walks the two feet across the hotel room to the second bed. It’s the longest walk of his life. Viktor shifts on the bed to make room.

The sheets are warm from Viktor’s body heat, and they smell like his shampoo, and Yuuri just wants to sink into them forever.

When he wakes up and feels Viktor’s arms wrapped around him, gentle yet strong, he’s so happy that he almost starts crying.

-

After that, Viktor sort of backs off. Yuuri doesn’t know why.

He still flirts. He still watches every moment of Yuuri’s programs. He still lets Yuuri practically propose to him.

But it’s like he’s holding back; he chooses every word oh-so-carefully; he doesn’t let his touches linger.

It isn’t until he wins silver that Yuuri says anything about it, though.

“You said you’d only kiss gold, huh?” Yuuri muses.

They’re back in Japan. Yuuri’s cooking dinner, and Viktor’s watching him.

“What?” Viktor says.

“You wouldn’t kiss anything else?”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, and he sounds sort of desperate.

This is dangerous territory, but the words keep flooding out; his voice keeps dripping with more flirtatious seduction than he thinks he’s ever had in his life, on or off the ice.

“Not even me?”

“Yuuri, you know I-”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri says, and the warmth is gone from his voice. “Tell me.”

“You know I love you,” Viktor says, and Yuuri turns off the stove with a click.

They eat in silence.

Yuuri feels sort of stupid, like maybe he should’ve said it back.

But he didn’t.

Even though he does.

Viktor goes to put his bowl in the sink, and Yuuri blurts it out.

“I love you, Viktor.”

Viktor smiles.

“Yuuri, can I kiss you?”

It’s a simple request, but it sends his heart into overdrive, like an electrical shock has just pulsed through his body, like fireworks are going off in his head.

“ _Oh_ ,” Yuuri says, and he doesn’t mean for his voice to come out that breathy, but it does. “Yes. Please.”

He stands from the table. Viktor’s only a few strides away, and they rush towards each other in unison, both of them desperate to make contact.

Their mouths meet.

It’s nice, even nicer than Yuuri thought it would be. His lips are plush and soft, and Yuuri whimpers into the kiss.

He’s so gentle.

Everyone who Yuuri’s fucked always wanted to take and take, as if they couldn’t get enough of him, as if they were stealing the kisses from his lips and the moans from his throat. They were aggressive and harsh in the way they screwed him, always chasing their own orgasm first.

But Viktor kisses with sweet passion, languidly and beautifully, the way he skates.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, pulling away softly and meeting his eyes. “Can we-”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says, because he can feel Viktor hardening against his hip, and he’s pretty aroused himself, and _fuck_ , he’s wanted this since forever.

They move to the bedroom, falling onto the sheets and unmaking the bed as Viktor undoes Yuuri with his mouth.

Hands and lips trail over soft skin as Yuuri gasps, tilting his neck back, pulling off his shirt, tugging off his jeans.

It’s like he’d do anything to be naked, flush against Viktor.

Soon, he is.

They’re both so hard that it aches. When Viktor takes two hands and presses their cocks together, rubbing slowly, Yuuri doesn’t think anything’s felt so good in his entire life.

They kiss, and Yuuri starts thrusting gently into Viktor’s hands.

He usually has more stamina, but he orgasms fast, Viktor’s name tumbling from his mouth as his come spills over the sheets.

Viktor comes too, their releases mingling together, staining the sheets and dirtying Viktor’s hands.

Viktor goes to wash his hands in the bathroom, and when he gets back, Yuuri’s nearly asleep on the bed, not even bothering to tuck himself underneath the sheets.

He reaches for Viktor, their warm bodies pressed together in the dim light of the room, and they fall asleep like that.

Yuuri’s only twenty-four years old.

But he knows who he loves.

  


**Author's Note:**

> hey amanda guess what ur gay
> 
> also thank u for reading @everyone else


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